The slip is on.
It's slippery,
But not like a floor,
A bit of paper with X's and O's,
Offering promises,
Gears and clutches needing oil;
Not like memory of your speghetti straps,
Or an announcement of a slipped lip
Revealing dumbfoundery.
They are temporal and physical.
This slip goes to the soul,
Dispiriting and lying low;
Not discernable to public scrutiny.
I tripped on a rabbit hole
That changes the world,
And makes me late
For a very important date.